


The Short Film

by thelotusflower



Category: South Park
Genre: AU, College AU, F/M, Film class, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kenny is mentioned, Road Trip, actor! tweek, and so is wendy, but that's it, creek - Freeform, film project, i love these roles, i tried to be poetic and metaphoric, i'm a slut for these roles, idk - Freeform, mentioned wendy/stan, photographer! craig, this is my first au i think, uhhhhhhhhhh yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16034759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotusflower/pseuds/thelotusflower
Summary: Tweek volunteers to be part of a student short film for extra credit. The director is kind of an apathetic asshole.





	The Short Film

**Author's Note:**

> i have so much to do and did this instead. hate myself

It starts with his acting professor announcing that he’ll give three points of extra credit of  _ total  _ class points; a potential letter change difference.

 

All Tweek has to do is be part of some college student’s shot film; his professor has even put a list online of local student’s  _ looking  _ for participants/ actors for their short films.

 

Not all of them are asking for actors, some want make up artists, other ask for  _ vocally talented students,  _ but most are just looking for actors to fill minor roles in their short films. Tweek skims through them, looking for something small enough that it shouldn’t take too much of his time, but exciting enough that he won’t be ashamed of being a part of.

 

He stumbles upon a short film named ‘ _ White Out’,  _ a short film about five people who get stuck in the mountains during an ice storm on a backpacking trip. The description warns that they w _ ill  _ be traveling to Mt. Audubon to film, and transportation can be provided, if needed. Tweek doesn’t have a car, so.  _ Needed. _

 

It’s the only one that seems semi-interesting. It’s sort of cliche, Tweek supposes, but it’s not about drug overdose or toxic love, which is what most of the other short films seem to be about.

 

Tweek eyes the student director’s name --  _ Craig Tucker. _ He doesn’t believe he’s had him in any classes, but some of his lectures have been pretty sizely, so maybe he’s just forgotten. He searches the name on facebook and immediately comes across a boy with dark hair creeping out under a chullo hat, a toothless smile on his face. He’s cut someone out of the picture, Tweek can tell.

 

He’s got clear blue eyes to match his blue chullo and a certain aura of apathy surrounding him. Tweek scrolls through his facebook, which to his benefit, is not on private. It definitely is the Craig Tucker from the list of short films. Most of his posts are just of photography, pictures of his pet guinea pig, and statuses, asking for any volunteers for his short films. They’ve got three mutuals friends and come from a small mountain town in Colorado.

 

Tweek tries to find a link to any of his short films, but fails to find one. His photography is pretty decent though.

 

Tweek finds the origin of his profile picture in his tagged photos. Tweek was indeed right: he cut someone out. Once, a boy was at his side, both of them standing in front of lockers. The other boy has brown hair, brown eyes, and a varsity jacket on. Tweek discovers the other boy’s name is Clyde Donovan.

 

Tweek clicks through a few more tagged photos. Craig’s a pretty good looking guy, actually. He’s got broad shoulders, is pretty slim and skinny, and looks to be about as tall as a giraffe.

 

Tweek sucks in a breath.

 

_ No.  _

 

He will not crush on his potential means to getting extra credit. 

 

He looks straight, anyhow-- very plain and simple. Although, Tweek’s facebook is mostly just coffee art photos and pictures of the sky; not really that  _ gay  _ at all.

 

Tweek exits out of the boy’s facebook and returns to the information provided about his short film projects.

 

_ If interested, please meet at the student center in ballroom 3 on Wed, October 24, at 4pm. If unable to make it, we also will be meeting at the same place on Thursday, October 25 at 3pm.  _

 

He also requested to send an email if you plan on attending the meeting.

 

Tweek sends the email and seals his fate.

  
  
  
  


The Wednesday in October comes sooner than expected.

 

Tweek nearly forgets about it but he set a reminder in his phone the couple weeks prior that he emailed the student with the name of Craig.

 

He never got a response, which was a _ dmittedly,  _ kind of, weird. He’s done this twice before now, once for his friend Kenny, and other being another extra credit opportunity. The extra credit opportunity was a short documentary about feminism. Tweek was the only boy apart of it. The only reason they even accepted him was because he was a homosexual male, and they wanted an opinion from his perspective.

 

The girl, Wendy, was bossy and conductive, but also very passionate and caring. When Tweek sent  _ her _ an email, she replied back instantly with a bunch of gratitude. He still talks to her sometimes, meeting up with her over coffee. They sort of became friends.

 

Tweek momentarily wonders if it’s still even  _ happening.  _ He half expects to walk into the ballroom of the student center and find it vacant. 

 

To his name surprise though, there are a group of people cluttered together around a table in the corner of the ballroom. Tweek spots the chullo hat first before the boy under it. He’s in the right place.

 

He halts for a moment, wondering if he should join. He doesn’t feel welcome, a part of this. They all look to have already been here awhile. 

 

Before he decides, another person enters the room. It’s a pretty blonde girl with a pretty face and big boobs to match it. 

 

“Is this… is this that film project?” she asks him.

 

Tweek opens his mouth, but someone else answers from across the room.

 

“Yes! It is!” the voice echoes off the walls. Tweek recognizes him. He’s that guy who was in Craig’s picture. He looks slightly different, older, maybe; less boyish. His name escapes him. “Hi, I’m Clyde Donovan,” and there it is. Clyde rushes over to them, extending his hand to the pretty blonde beside him. He doesn’t even look over at him though, making Tweek feel sheepish.

 

“You must be miss Bebe Stevens. Oh, I’m  _ so  _ glad, you’re here Bebe. I’ve seen your work. You’re  _ amazing.” _

 

Bebe Stevens. It rings a bell. Tweek takes a look at her again.

 

_ Oh. Shit. _

 

She is that model that goes here. Tweek heard about her a million times from his friend Kenny. She’s apparently been in a couple different magazines. He heard she’s majoring in biology, though. Apparently she’s ridiculously smart. Tweek wonders why she’s here. Tweek is majoring in acting, but how does this correlate with her major at all?

 

“Hi,” she answers uneasily. “Um, you, you’re the one who offered me lululemon merch if I did this right?”

 

_ Oh _ . Explains it.

 

“Yeah! My dad knows people. I get it for girls all the time.”

 

“Cool.” She answers briskly. “I need some extracurriculars anyways.”

 

Clyde lets go of her hand, and nods, way too excitedly. “I’m  _ so  _ happy we’ll be able to get that for you, miss Stevens.”

 

“Fucking stop calling her that!” another voice blares out. A chubby boy with a pale blue beanie comes jogging over to greet the blonde, Twerk still,  _ unnoticed. “Bebe,  _ you are even  _ prettier  _ in person. I’ve seen every single photoshoot you’ve ever had. I’m a big fan of Abrial’s work.”

 

“You know Abrial?” she sounds uncertain, but a glint of hope flutters her eyes.

 

“Not personally. But his work is just wonderful, don’t you think, Bebe? Especially of you, Bebe. You  _ really  _ peaked it.”

 

Bebe gives an uneasy smile, laughing nervously, obviously decided that she is  _ creeped out,  _ instead of  _ flattered  _ in a matter of ten seconds. Tweek can’t blame her. 

 

Clyde rolls his eyes, “stop embarrassing yourself, Cartman.”

 

Tweek feels almost as if he could just disappear past the door, and no one would notice.

 

“Can you  _ please  _ all come join us over here?” a voice from across the room demands; it’s nasally, but smooth and somewhat  _ soothing,  _ in a way. When Tweek follows the voice, he realizes it came from the director himself.

 

They all shuffle over and sit down. Other than Clyde, Craig, Bebe, and  _ “Cartman,”  _ there are two boys sending murmurs to each other and a dark skinned girl who looks somewhat like she regrets ever coming, eyeing everyone with very skeptical eyes. Tweek sits by her, feeling they’ll at least have one thing in common.

 

He eyes the two boys from across the table. One’s got black hair, and the other wears a green trapper hat, but Tweek spies orange curls bulging out. The black haired one looks familiar but he can’t put his finger on it…  _ maybe they shared a class once? _

 

Craig has a blue folder in his hands and a Canon camera around his neck. He tells Clyde and Cartman to “shut up the fuck up, you shitholes,” before speaking.

 

“Thank you all for coming today.” He says. He doesn’t sound grateful at all though. “As you know, this is for a short film called,  _ White Out.  _ This is a silent film, so you do not have to worry about remembering any lines.”

 

Tweek did not know that. Interesting.

 

“If you read the poster or whatever it is you discovered this on, you were told we would be shooting on mt. abduon. If you are not willing to go there, or make time for the trip, which is roughly a little less than an hour from here, then, please excuse yourself now from this project.”

 

Craig looks up from the sheet he’s reading, scans the room at no one in particular, and sighs a little before continuing as if all this is exhausting for him. “I’d like you all to fill out this small survey for my professor, and to give me what days would be best for you to film. We will most likely go on a weekend. This will probably take two or three days. If you just listen to me, we can finish sooner.”

 

Craig pulls out some papers from the folder, and passes them out to the group at the table. 

 

Clyde smirks at this. “I don’t have to do this, right Craig? Since I’m kind of like, you’re  _ partner  _ on this?” 

  
Craig’s stoic facial expression does not change. “You have to. It’s for my professor, dipshit. She needs to know how many people I got to help me on it. And you literally whined about how much you wanted to be in it, and if you’re in it, you  _ definitely  _ have to.”

 

Clyde frowns. “You know all this info about me though, anyways!”

 

“Just do it. God damn.”

 

Clyde’s frown deepens and he genuinely looks on the verge of tears, but he picks up a pen and begins to fill it out.

 

It’s at this point Tweek realizes he does not have a pen.  _ Fuck _ . Everyone else seems to be prepared, pulling their pens and pencils out of their backpacks. Tweek didn’t bring a backpack. He doesn’t have class on Wednesdays, and saw no reason to bring it.

 

He bites his lip, really ready to just sprint out of here. He feels the ball of anxiety in his stomach grow into a dragon, flying up chest and burning his throat. He breathes out deeply through his nose.

 

The girl beside him looks nice enough, he supposes, and she’s all done. “Hey, uh, can I, could I borrow your, uh, pen?” he requests quietly.

 

“Yeah! Sure.” She smiles warmly, passing it over with ease. She’s got a nice smile and a genuine way about her that makes Tweek instantly like her; trust that she’s not going to suddenly say SIKE and grab the pen back.

 

“Thank you, so much!” he answers, beginning to write out his info.

 

It’s mostly this:

 

**Name**

**Major**

**Days Available**

**Email**

**Experience with Acting**

**Need transport ?**

 

Tweek hands the pen back with a smile and another thanks.

 

Craig collects the papers and puts them into the folder. “Alright. Awesome. Thank you. If you came here today, then you don’t have to be here tomorrow.  But you’re pretty much free to go, unless you have any questions. We’ll probably have another meeting about this next week, and practice a few things, and so I can get a sense of acting abilities. Before that though, is there any one who’d  _ like  _ to be the leading roles or wouldn’t mind doing it?”

 

Tweek wearily raises his hand, alongside Bebe, Clyde, the girl next to him, and Cartman.

 

“Alright, cool,” he mumbles, “and what are your names?”

 

“I think you know my name,” Clyde winks at him.

 

Craig rolls his eyes and flips him off. “I basically just need you two, actually.”

 

So Craig must know Cartman too then. Maybe. Or maybe they just met earlier today before Tweek arrived.

 

The girl beside him answers before he does: “Nichole Daniels.”

 

Craig nods and jots it down. When Tweek doesn’t immediately say it, his eyes click to his, eyeing him expectantly, like  _ why the fuck haven’t you said anything yet? _ __  
  


“Tweek Tweak.”

 

Craig does a little furrow of his brow, like most do when hearing his name, and then writes it.

 

“Hey!” the boy across from him with the black hair yells. “I knew I knew you. You were in my ex-girlfriend’s documentary about feminism, right?”

 

And then it clicks. Stan is his name, he thinks. He was around for almost the whole thing, and yet, never featured in the actually film. “Oh! Rrrr, yeah. I thought you looked familiar, too.”

 

“Aw man, you had to work with  _ Wendy?”  _ Cartman interrupts, mockingly gagging. “Poor you. She’s a  _ bitch. _ ”

 

Stan sends him a glare, but doesn’t say anything. Tweek feels awkward again for what seems like the millionth time in the last fifteen minutes. “She -- ah-- seemed nice?” he offers feebly. “We are friends, kind of now, even.”

 

Stan’s back looking at something else now, looking somewhat sad and hopeless. He doesn’t say anything else though.

 

Craig’s talking again in a matter of seconds as if the exchange never happened. “Well, at this rate, I think I’ve got all I need, and I’ll just email everyone who was supposed to come tomorrow that we’ve got enough people.”

 

_ So  _ he  _ did  _ get the emails.

 

“In that case, though, would everyone be okay with meeting up back here as soon as possible?” Craig flips through the few pages they all just gave him. “Let’s see…,” he mumbles. A few seconds pass by of him shuffling papers. Tweek bites his nail, watching him. He seems very apathetic to literally  _ everything  _ going on around him, like he doesn’t even  _ notice  _ how Clyde and Cartman keep glancing at Bebe’s boobs, making her cover herself up with her arms. Or the way that Stan is moping, and the boy beside him just looks pissed off.

 

“Everyone seems to be free on Friday’s at 2pm. Would that work for everyone?”

 

Everyone agrees. Tweek leaves, feeling like he wasn’t there at all.

  
  
  
  


Friday comes, and Tweek almost decides to ditch.

 

He’s smoked a blunt with Kenny the night before, discussing how everyone seemed close knit, and how much of an apathetic asshole Craig seemed to be (he left out the part about him being broad shouldered, taller than he expected, and that his voice was smooth and gentle and monotone, like a drizzle of rain or the sound of a distant waterfall.) 

 

Kenny told him to just go through with it; it seemed it would be easy, a silent film, and the Craig kid seemed to know what he wanted. A plan was important with short films, Kenny said.

  
  
  
  


When he enters Friday afternoon, everyone already appears to be there. Tweek goes over to the corner again and takes a seat next to Nichole. Craig’s sorting out papers or, something, at the table next to them. He looks focused and driven; the world and noise around him drowned out by his drive.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until Nichole is talking, and he’s suddenly forced to pull himself away from the boy who is once again wearing that chullo hat.

 

“So you’ve done one of these kinds of things before?” she asks. “I heard you, the other day, talking about some documentary?”   
  


Tweek nods. “Y-yeah, and I was in my friend’s. His was… um, about a boy who lived in a world where sexuality was controlled by pills.”

 

“Sounds interesting!” and she said it like she was--  _ interested _ . So Tweek went on, nodding.

 

“Yeah, yeah! It really was. He’s pretty, ah, he’s really into this stuff-- real creative.” He doesn’t tell her that he thinks of most of the ideas with a joint is in his hands and cannabis in his lungs. “It was really introspective you know? It kind of delve into that whole, ‘if sexuality was a choice’ thing, and they took away the pill for homosexuality, because uh, you know, they so  _ would,  _ and people outraged because they wouldn’t even take the hetero pill because they’d still have feelings for the person from before, if they were in a relationship--so it even explored like being asexual, and aromantic, and all the sexualities. It was just super interesting.”

 

Nichole looks genuinely intrigued as she says, “I kind of want to watch it!”

 

“Yeah. I think--I think it’s on the school website still? It was, augh, it was last year, but it won an award at the Denver movie festival, and I guess the school’s really proud.”

 

“Wow! That’s incredible!”

 

Tweek smiles fondly, forgetting how uncomfortable it is to be here. “Yeah, yeah. I had a small role, but I’m in it. It’s pretty cool!”

 

When he looks away from Nichole, he catches Craig looking. How long has he been looking?  _ Listening _ ? 

 

“You  _ were  _ in that. I remember now.”

 

Tweek swallows. “You saw it?” he inquires, answer already known and obvious.

 

Craig just nods and shrugs a shoulder, looking away. “Yeah. My professor showed the class.” And it’s all he says about it.

 

Tweek doesn’t know why, but he feels sort of violated; like Craig’s somehow stumbled upon those nudes he sent out senior year of high school, and not a student short film that he’s known to be on the internet for sometime, easy for anyone to access.

 

They start up, and Craig mostly just tells them they need to just be able to have somewhat believable reactions to fear; that a lot of it, he’s taking from far away, a view from above, but there will be the occasional close up. 

 

He tells them to wear darker clothes to contrast to the snow, black preferred.

 

Craig tosses out some of scripts he’s produced. “Even though this is a silent film, I will need to be able to film you speaking at certain times. We’ll run through these lines, and I’ll decide who I want to be what.”

 

There’s only five roles, but Craig says he still needs some props people and two characters to film at a gas station. The characters do not even have names, but Tweek figures it doesn’t really matter. They do somewhat have backstories though. 

 

They run through lines a couple times as different roles; even Kyle, he finds the red haired boy’s name, and Stan run through the lines with them, even though they did not want bigger roles.

 

Everyone seems mediocre, except for Nichole, Bebe, and surprisingly, Cartman.

 

Craig’s just been sitting with his Canon camera the whole time,  _ recording?  _ Possibly. Tweek doesn’t know.

 

“Alright you can stop,” Craig allows. “Just give me a couple minutes. Pizza is coming for you all. Thanks,” he says, not even really taking a look at all them.

 

Tweek sighs and sits down, pulling out his phone. A text from Kenny.

 

**_How is it?_ **

 

**awkward.**

 

He shoves his phone back into his pocket, and stares at Craig. He looks so  _ focused,  _ a little dent in his brow and slightly biting his bottom lip. He wonders how many of these he’s done. He wonders if he acts like this every time.

 

Nichole takes a seat next to him.

 

She drinks from her water.

 

“You’re really good at this!” she announces.

 

“Yeah you are,” another voice confirms, the director himself, his voice nasally and low. Tweek feels himself blushing as he meets Craig’s stare. “You want to be character 1?”

 

‘Character 1’ is focused on most, the leader of the group, the protagonist, of sorts. 

 

“Woah--, ah, really?”

 

Craig nods. “You’re good at acting.”

 

“Aw. Dude. Come on! You said I’d be the star,” Clyde whines.

 

Craig rolls his eyes, but otherwise, doesn’t acknowledge him, keeping his expecting blue eyes on Tweek.

 

Tweek bites his lip and nods. “Well, yeah, sure that would be cool. Thanks.”

 

“ _ Cool.”  _ Craig responds, jotting something down with steady fingers. Tweek finds himself lingering onto him. There’s something comforting about him; he’s steady and calm, and Tweek feels a desire to impress him further.

 

The rest of the roles fill right after, Nichole: Character 2, Bebe: Character 3, Cartman: Character 4, and Clyde: Character 5. Kyle and Stan take on the roles of the two at the gas station. 

 

They decide they’ll shoot next Friday. They’ll leave at 9am. 

  
  
  
  


When Bebe offered to be one of the drivers (as long as people coughed up gas money,) Cartman and Clyde immediately jumped at the opportunity to go with her,  _ insisting  _ it be the only way. At this, Bebe practically demanded Nichole come with her; Nichole, of course, obligated, because even though they weren’t friend girls usually will protect each other from neanderthal men.

 

Stan and Kyle opted to drive together; they were only going to the gas station along the way to film, so they would drive separate.

 

That left Tweek.

 

Craig was pretty intimidating, so, in spite Bebe’s car alreading holding four people, he was planning to ask her, but just as he was opting up the courage to do so, Craig interrupted. “You need a ride, right? You can come with me if you want.”

 

So, now, here he is, in the passenger seat of a 2004 Saturn L300, the chullo hat wearing boy behind the wheel.

 

The Saturn’s pretty clean for a college student; a lot cleaner than Kenny’s, at least; no remnants of weed crumbles on the dashboard, or Taco Bell containers below his feet. A pine air freshener hangs on the rearview mirror, that Tweek guesses has been there for some time because it doesn’t really smell like anything in the car, as opposed to Kenny’s, whose holds the scent of sex and cigarettes. 

  
  


The radio blares through the speakers; the windows open, cold Colorado winds howling behind the music. Craig hooked up his spotify, and Tweek’s noticed, most of it so far is  _ Dad Music,  _ aka 70’s rock and some 80’s pop. He doesn’t mind it. It’s better than some of the crap that’s on the radio now. Tweek can’t help but think Craig has the radio volume so high to avoid conversation. 

 

He doesn’t try to really make conversation for this reason. He honestly doesn’t know what to even really say. It’s been fifteen minutes, and it’s pretty much been nothing. Craig asked if he was cold, he said not really, and that was it.

 

After the fifth or sixth song, Craig pulls off on an exit. Tweek’s not very familiar with the town, but it seems like a bad neighborhood; graffiti covering most buildings; burnt down, abandoned houses, featuring frequently throughout the streets. There are a lot of homeless, too. Maybe Craig  _ wants  _ them to die.

 

He pulls into a rustic, almost  _ abandoned,  _ looking gas station. There are only two working gas pumps, the third one covered with caution tape. The inside of the gas station is small and dim lit. There is a board on the window, possibly indicating a break in, maybe? 

 

A 2009 Dodge Charger pulls up, and Tweek would probably die of shock that someone else was coming to this gas station if he didn’t already know it was just Stan and Kyle. Bebe’s 2011 Ford Focus follows, some pop song blasting so loud, Tweek can hear it.

 

Craig turns the engine off, reminding Tweek of his presence. He gets out of his car, and Tweek feels forced to follow, even if he doesn’t want to. Craig strides over to his trunk, fishing various equipment out, as the rest of them come striding over.

 

“The  _ fuck  _ is this place, Craig?” Stan asks. “Is your aim for the film Grand Theft Auto?”

 

Kyle laughs. 

 

“Ha. Ha. You’re fucking, hilarious, Marsh. It’d be even funnier if your dumb car did get stolen,” Craig responds, still pulling equipment from his trunk.

 

Cartman’s next, with, “this place is  _ disgusting.  _ Why the  _ fuck  _ would you choose this? You  _ obviously  _ have no artistic vision, Craig. Let me  _ tell  _ you, this is  _ not  _ what people want to see,” Cartman is looking around, grimacing.

 

“Shut up, fatass. This is where I grew up.”

 

At this, Cartman almost doubles over with laughter. He has his hands on his knees, and is shaking his head, “ _ ah,  _ ah, fuck,” he chokes out. “I’m--fuck! Wow. I knew you were poor, but  _ fuck.  _ You meant that. Oh, Craig, oh, boy. How, how--  _ shit.”  _

 

“Cartman! Shut the fuck up!” Kyle screams, fists curling up at his sides.

 

“Fuck off, Jew!” Cartman screams at his,  _ friend?  _ Tweek isn’t sure what to call it. They obviously know one another. “Man, you better be paying you gas money!” he is addressing Tweek now, a little more ahold of himself. “Boy, does he fucking need it.”

 

Tweek opens his mouth, and feels unsure what to say--he was planning to, but does admitting to that humiliate Craig further, or make the situation worse? He eyes Craig. He doesn’t seem to care at all. Luckily, Cartman moves on, eyeing Clyde now. “You live here too then, loser?” he asks. He shifts to Bebe, “Bebe, I wouldn’t stand around him too much, he might try to steal one of your pretty earrings.”

 

Clyde looks visibly upset, flushed and frowning. “No, you fat jerk, I lived on the other side of town. It’s much nicer there!” he fires back. He looks towards Bebe, softening slightly, “and I would  _ never  _ do such a thing.” Almost as an afterthought, he looks to Craig, “also, no offense, dude.”

 

Craig just rolls his eyes and groans irritably. “ _ Whatever.  _ Can we just fucking do this already?”

  
  
  
  


Craig brings out his camera, causing everyone to quiet their voices into murmurs. He takes a few shots of the gas station, then, Kyle and Stan, ‘pumping’ their car, and then Tweek ‘pumps’ Bebe’s car, which, for all intent purposes, serves as a prop for the film. He asks them to pile into Bebe’s car, and drive in again, so he can get a shot of that. He gets a shot of Kyle and Bebe laughing at something, and pans over to Clyde and Cartman looking annoyed (all of this, non-acting, but working for the film, Tweek supposes.)

 

When Tweek dismisses himself to go buy a coffee inside, he finds Craig recording him as he comes out, he looks away nervously, toward his feet, then the sky, and takes a sip of the hot liquid.

 

When he reaches Craig, he leans against his Saturn, and Craig stops recording a moment to say, “you got another coffee,” and it’s more of a statement then a question, but Tweek nods anyways because he feels nervous, for some reason. He seems the furrow of the darker hair boy’s brow and the expressionless straight line of his lips, and he is  _ judging,  _ Tweek knows for sure. “Didn’t you have that entire thermos already?” he inspects.

 

Tweek feels an odd sensation of satisfaction that he noticed this; the apathetic, focused, driven, completely tuned out director noticed something he did, and Tweek feels somewhat  _ special  _ he somehow crept into his view. It’s stupid. It’s  _ so  _ fucking dumb, but he’s shown little interest in anything, has made almost zero conversation, up to right now. This is  _ something.  _ But Tweek also feels a little annoyed; a little  _ judged.  _ Maybe he’s just being defensive. “Yes?” he replies, making  _ this,  _ this tiny, three letter word a question.

 

Craig shakes his head, fleeing away from the conversation perceivably. He toys with his camera.

 

_ Is that a problem?  _ Tweek wants to ask, but he doesn’t, because of that satisfying feeling in his that piques at Craig noticing him at all. 

 

“That’s a lot of coffee,” Craig murmurs, eyes still focuses on his camera. “Before 10 am.”

 

“I drink seven or eight cups a day.”

 

Craig’s eyes dart at him, gaping. His eyes are so blue that Tweek finds it endearing, rather than annoying.

 

_ Ugh,  _ damn cute boys.

 

“Eight? _ ”  _

 

“Sometimes.”

 

Craig continues to gape. He breathes in, shakes his head, and toys with his camera once more, eyes off of him. Tweek releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

“You should maybe try to cut back… that’s…  _ a lot.” _

 

It’s easier to fire back when those blue eyes are glowing at him. “It’s my body,” Tweek grimances.

 

Craig blinks, but doesn’t look up. “It’s your heart attack,” he mumbles.

 

_ Dick. _

  
  
  


They pile back up in their respective cars again, Kyle and Stan going on their way, and the rest of them heading up the mountain. Tweek loses service somewhere along the way, as the edge up the mountain, and shortly after, Craig’s spotify shuts out. Apparently he doesn’t download his music.

 

This leaves them in silence; sick silence that makes Tweek feel uneasy, that makes his thoughts roar and scratch. He begins to tug on his hair a little, a nervous habit he never could quite drop, even with the anxiety meds and years of therapy. He barely knows the kid beside him, and they’re going up a mountain; no service or outlet. It’s not like he thinks he’s going to be  _ killed  _ or anything, but it hits him now that he is with a bunch of people he barely knows for an indefinite amount of time, nothing in his control.

 

He squeaks through his anxiety; another nervous habit, and Craig looks over.

 

“You… um, you all right?”

 

Tweek nods. He bites his lip.

 

Another moment of silence passes.

 

“I forgot to download my spotify songs. I knew this would happen, too,” he says. 

 

His voice reminds Tweek of the hum of a soft wind, or the sound of a fan; a white noise, canceling out the background sounds. It’s calming. He wants him to talk more. “It’s okay,” Tweek says, even though it wasn’t really an apology, or anything. 

 

“You can play something if you have anything,” Craig offers.

 

Tweek takes this opportunity and plugs his phone in. He plays his downloaded music, most of it indie or Billy Joel.

 

The music calms Tweek, but he still feels the anxiety bubbling in his stomach. He just feels like he barely knows anything about these people, and they all seem so  _ hostile  _ towards each other. Tweek doesn’t even know if they are  _ friends,  _ like he originally thought.

 

Out of curiosity, and maybe also a little of wanting to hear the director’s voice, Tweek turns down the music slightly and asks, “so. How do you all know each other?” he asks.

 

Craig seems startled almost, blinking. It takes a second for him to answer. “Clyde is… my best friend, I guess, and roommate. I’m sort of, friends with Kyle and Stan, I guess. There more so Clyde’s friends, though, and Cartman’s their roommate.”

 

_ Oh. _

 

“Augh! Cartman seems like a dick, kind of,” he doesn’t know why he feels nervous to say it when it’s so obvious.

 

This gets a soft chuckle from Craig. It’s the first time he thinks he has seen him laugh, or even smile, really. “Not seems. Definitely  _ is.  _ The only reason he is hear is because of Clyde’s big mouth.”

 

Tweek ponders this a moment before asking, “Bebe?” he inspects.

 

A remnants of a smile sits at Craig’s lips; from before, or anew, Tweek’s not sure. “Yup. As if that fatass has any kind of chance with her. Clyde doesn’t even have one.”

 

“Ouch,” Tweek responds. “Kind of a, ah, eerrr, dick thing to say about your best friend, man,” it is a joke, and he hopes Craig  _ knows,  _ but just in case he  _ doesn’t,  _ he instantly follows with, “just kidding, but why do you say that?” But Craig is right. Tweek knows he is right, only spending a very limited time with these people: Clyde seems kind, sincere, and humorous, but also kind of doofus and gumpy, a guy that Bebe, a smart, beautiful,  _ model  _ would never be into. She’d probably is into asshole guys who ignore her, a guy like  _ Craig,  _ probably, in all honesty. Tweek makes a mental note to observe that.

 

Maybe Tweek’s wrong with his stereotyping. He kind of feels bad about it, but usually he is right with situations like this; he can usually read people well. Although, Craig is pretty damn hard to read.

 

“If you hang out with him a little longer, I’m sure you will come to understand,” Craig offers. Almost as an afterthought, he says, “he’s my best friend, but…,” he shakes his head. “He’s a moron, at times. He’s especially been bad in front of Bebe.”

 

Tweek doesn’t know if he can agree or not. Clyde is Craig’s best friend, he’s allowed to say whatever he wants about him, but if Tweek says anything bad… he has no right. Craig could rightfully kick him in the balls for doing so. So, he lets it go, and sputters into another question, a question he doesn’t even know why he is asking, but is asking anyway, “what about you?” he asks.

 

“Huh?” Craig responds, glancing over. Tweek feels his stomach flutter at the attention of his blue eyes, but their back on the road in an instant. 

 

“You think you, augh, have a shot with Bebe?”

 

A long, dragged out moment passes before Craig shakes his head. “Probably not, but… I don’t want it anyway.”

 

Tweek goes silent at this; pondering the reasons Craig would not be interested in swaying over a beautiful, smart, seemingly nice,  _ huge  _ rack, long-legged, model.  _ Any  _ guy would be into her. Any  _ straight  _ guy, at least.

 

In the midst of his contemplation, a whole  _ song  _ after their conversation, Craig interrupts his overthinking of the director’s sexuality, and asks, “what? Are you, like, planning on making a move on Bebe?”

 

“ _ What?”  _ Tweek shrieks, out of his thoughts. “No way!” he exclaims, maybe a little bit too forcibly. “She’s… augh, she’s well… I’m--, she is not my _ type _ ?” he offers lamely. He’s been out for a long time. He grew up in a pretty PC town, his parents were always super supportive, and he had his first boyfriend in fifth grade. He never really went through any kind of phase where he pretended to be straight. Still, though, it felt weird announcing it to people. Since he came to college though, he’s found himself doing it more and more. He still feels awkward about it. In a ramble, he adds, “or, like, augh, any girl for that matter.”

 

Craig doesn’t really react it seems, more so just nods, and says, “yeah, same. Good. Less dumb bull shit, the better.”

 

Tweek doesn’t say anything the rest of the way, feeling pink all over at the nonchalant Craig just came out to him;  _ yeah, same. _

 

_ Well, fuck. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s fucking freezing, and Tweek didn’t bring gloves, or a hat, or much of anything besides the old dark green jacket around him and the combat boots at his feet. Luckily, they are  _ supposed  _ to look like they are freezing their asses off.

 

Tweek focuses on acting; bringing forth fear (easy) and despearationess. He focuses on what the script tells him to do, and instructions of the chullo wearing director who subtly, nonchalantly just declared his non-heterosexuality to him, prior. He focuses on his words, and not the voice that Tweek’s sure is on a white noise machine somewhere, or at least  _ should  _ be.

 

Cartman and Clyde dick around enough to cause Craig to announce they’ll take a break for lunch. They all stand around, away from one another pretty much, munching on their lunches in the blistering cold. Tweek wishes he had more coffee, beginning to get a headache, but he only had what was in his thermos.

 

Nichole stands by him to eat her lunch, along with Bebe. Cartman stands alone, Clyde and Craig together, chuckling at something.

 

“I cannot s _ tand  _ those two,” Bebe runs a hand over her face. “How do they  _ not  _ get the point.”

 

Nichole shrugs. “They probably do, but they just don’t care, they’re still going for it.”

 

She shakes her head, pursing her lips. She sighs. “Can you  _ please  _ tell them to knock it off, Tweek?” she looks at him, wide eyed and pouty. Tweek can see why a guy would like her.

 

“Um, I -- I’m not sure they would listen?” he offers, feeling awkward.

 

Bebe groans loudly. Tweek itches itches the back of his neck. Nichole nods in agreement. “Probably not. They’re morons.”

 

Bebe rolls her eyes, “I’m not driving them back, they can go with you and Craig.”

 

Tweek doesn’t know how to take this information.  _ Relieved?  _ It won’t be awkward, now, that’s for sure, but also  _ disappointed?  _ He kind of  _ wanted  _ to be alone with him. Maybe he is developing a little crush on him, especially now that there is a microscopic chance.

 

“I wish Craig wasn’t driving,” Bebe continues. She stares at him across the snowy plain. “He’s got a nice ass, and is frickin’ sexy.”

 

Tweek bites his lip, and finds himself unconsciously nodding. He noticed this too, and honestly, he doesn’t really care about Bebe and Nichole thinking him as gay. Most girls flock to him, anyhow, seeing his femininity and just assuming that means  _ gay,  _ which he supposes in his case, they are right.

 

He was right about Bebe though, apparently. He wants to tell Craig. Maybe they’ll laugh about it. It’s kind of funny when a girl falls for a gay guy.

  
  
  
  


They wrap up shooting for the day, and as promised, Bebe pushes Clyde and Cartman into driving with Craig. He doesn’t seem too pleased with this, but allows it, nonetheless. Clyde tries to take his place in the front seat, but s _ urprisingly,  _ Craig stops him, saying Tweek gets shotgun.

“ _ What?!  _ Seriously?! I’m your  _ best  _ friend. You’ve known this guy for  _ five minutes!  _ You’ve known me for twelve years!”

 

Craig just rolls his eyes. “And you ditched me for Bebe.”

 

“I--Craig! That’s not--that is not fair.”

 

“Sucks to suck.”

 

So, Tweek gets shot gun again, and even though Clyde whines and complains about it, and Cartman keeps jabbering on about fucked up shit that honestly should get him kicked in the balls for, Tweek finds that the anxiety in his stomach from earlier has been replaced with a different kind. A kind that flocks butterflies.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The next time they go, which is a week later, Clyde drives.  _ Somehow,  _ Clyde convinces Bebe to come with him, ( “you don’t have to give me gas money!”, and therefore, Cartman (also, because he is not welcome in Craig’s car), goes with him, and therefore, Nichole, who Bebe drags with her. Once again, leaving Tweek with Craig.

 

The car ride is less terse than the one before, but he feels nervous; nervous because there is cute boy behind the steering wheel, and  _ Walking Back To Georgia  _ by Jim Core is playing, and it all feels much too like a movie to be real as the horizon of mountains rushes past them.

 

“Bebe is into you,” Tweek blurts out.

 

“What?” he questions, in a monotone, per usual. “That… is funny for a number of reasons.” but he isn’t laughing. There’s a tiny, barely smirk on his face though, Tweek observes. “Did you tell her I wasn’t into the whole…  _ girls  _ thing?”

 

“I wasn’t, augh, sure it was my place.”

 

Craig shrugs. “I don’t care who knows I’m gay.”

 

And so, it’s settled. Every doubt that was in his mind is squashed. He’s not asexual anything, or just ‘hates’ girls, as he hears many straight males say before diving into making a fool of themselves in front of them once again, but he is actually, one hundred percent, gay.

 

Tweek coughs awkwardly, “if it comes up again, I’ll make the record… um, _ straight _ ,” he grins playfully at the boy beside him who is now smirking. “Maybe the wrong word to use.” This gets a chuckle out of the boy beside him.

 

“Maybe not,” he confirms. He looks like he thinking about his next words so Tweek waits. “I can’t wait to tell Clyde. He’s gonna be so pissed, and that will make me so happy.”

 

Tweek laughs, shaking his head. “That’s evil, man.”

 

Craig shrugs. “He’s fucking annoying, and honestly the way he acts around her, deserves it,” he states. Tweek agrees with a sort of nod. 

 

“He is being kind of, eh, creepy.”

 

“I bet he’ll cry,” Craig states. “He cries about everything.”

 

Tweek scratches the back of his neck, tugging slightly on the hair on the back of his neck. He bites his lip, feeling a rush of nerves sprout from his stomach to his arms and legs. “You guys seem like total opposites.”

 

“Thank God,” Craig sounds exasperated. “I sure hope so. That kid is a mess.”

 

Tweek could make the argument that  _ he  _ is a way bigger mess than Clyde, but doesn’t feel like getting into it right now, so he just laughs freely, the cold winds of Colorado pushing through his blond hair.

  
  
  
  
  


They shoot for a few hours, and Tweek hopes Craig doesn’t get it all today. He doesn’t really want this to be over, yet. He hasn’t had enough time with the boy to get courage to ask him out, which he has, sort of, decided on, maybe, doing.

 

Craig, as promised, spends a large portion of the day above them. They still follow script, and listen to orders over a walkie talkie. 

 

He asks Clyde to cry at one point, insisting he needs it.

 

“I can’t just cry on command, dude, I’m not a wuss!”

 

“Just think of  _ The Lion King.” _

 

“Fuck you, Craig! Mufasa’s death was  _ heartbreaking _ , you don’t get it… especially, well, especially, you  _ know  _ why! Losing a parent is  _ fucking terrible!  _ Oh. Fuck, God Dammit, Craig you’re such an asshole,” and that does it. Clyde is crying, and Craig gets it on camera as the boy begins to sob.

 

Tweek kind of feels bad, but is also  _ shocked  _ at how fast something can trigger him. He meets Craig’s eyes briefly, and there is this  _ knowing  _ exchange, that makes Tweek’s cheeks warm up. He feels terrible, like a God awful person, because this boy is crying between them and he’s making eyes with the camera man, but he supposes you feel what you feel. Maybe Craig is most definitely an asshole; that doesn’t seem to make him like him any less.

  
  
  
  
  
  


They wrap up, and Craig says he is going to look over what he has, but probably needs a little more footage--he’ll get back to them all. He drives back to campus with Tweek, and the way back, they don’t really listen to music, but instead talk about how easily Clyde started crying, how much an asshat Cartman is, and how bad they feel for Nichole. At this, Craig says, “I feel bad for you too. These people suck. And you’re like… the only one who can even act, well, besides Nichole. You must be suffering.”

 

Tweek feels himself blushing at this. He looks out the window. He swallows. “It’s not all bad,” he murmurs, looking over at Craig, whose eyes return to the road as soon as he looks over.

 

A moment passes.

  
They’re approaching close to campus, somehow the fifty or sixty minutes flying by. 

 

“I’m starving. You want to get some food?” he asks after a moment.

 

Tweek eyes widen. He was not really expecting that. He gulps. “Sure!” he yelps out, hoping Craig doesn’t think he’s too eager.

 

Craig smiles and it makes all the butterflies in his stomach go wild.

  
  
  
  
  
  


They decide on a _ Denny’s  _ five miles outside of campus. 

The sun has long gone down by now, and the rush of dinner has diminished. There aren’t a whole lot of people around, and Tweek supposes most are probably spending their Friday night doing something a little more exciting, but Tweek honestly can’t really think of a place he’d rather be than eating dinner with a cute boy with a soothing voice and crystal blue eyes.

 

Craig gets a Dr. Pepper, which kind of makes Tweek want to gag, but he keeps this fact to himself. Tweek orders a coffee, which Craig just eyes briefly, but keeps his mouth shut on whatever he is thinking.

 

“You think we have enough footage?” Tweek asks.

 

“I will know tonight,” Craig says, eyeing his menu.

 

Tweek bites his lip. He already plans on getting french toast and bacon. Breakfast food is his favorite food. He wonders briefly if this is a date, but doesn’t dare to ask. Instead, he knowingly goes, “well, text me when you’re finished. I’m anxious to know.”

 

“I, uh, don’t have your number,” Craig lowers the menu, meeting his eyes. 

 

Tweek grins at his successful plan. “Well, then, give me your phone.”

 

The corner of the boy’s lips tug into a smile as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and pushes it forward. With shaky fingers, Tweek puts his number in. “There you go,” Tweek murmurs, passing his phone back. 

 

Craig’s still smiling, and Tweek is grateful that the waitress comes around at this time to divert the boy’s attention because he’s sure his cheeks are full of pink clouds.

  
  
  
  
  


The food comes and goes quickly, and Craig orders a milkshake after. Tweek begins to fret over what will happen when the waitress asks if it’s separate or together,  _ if,  _ she does anyhow. Should Tweek take the leap and cover it? Would that be weird? Will Craig do it, seeming he asked him to come here with him, or should they both just pay separate and be on their way?

 

It all happens quickly, quicker than Tweek can react. The waitress comes around, drops the check, not even a _ sking,  _ and Craig grabs it, announcing he’s got it and shoving a fistfull of cash on the table with it.

 

“So… you take your short film-actors out to dinner a lot?” Tweek asks, blushing in spite of himself. It’s a joke, but honestly, maybe he does. Maybe this is normal. “Or… was I just  _ that  _ impressive?”

 

Craig just smirks, his cheeks reddening, making Tweek feel proud of himself. His eyes flutter away to the window beside them. “You are  _ impressive,  _ in acting, and…,” he shifts his gaze to him, “other ways.”

 

Tweek swallows, knowing immediately he must look like a tomato. He brushes his hair back, fluttering his eyes down at the barely filled cup of coffee. He thinks he might throw up from this feeling; feeling so weighed down, but floating. “ _ Oh _ . Thanks!” he quips out. “You’re pretty …  _ impressive,  _ too,” he looks at him shly.

 

He’s smiling tenderly, and Tweek wishes he could find a way to tell him his smile is the most impressive smile he’s ever seen without it seeming too forward.

  
  
  
  
  


He gets a text later that night:

 

**Think I might need a little bit more footage**

 

Because he is a paranoid piece of shit, he responds with:  **_Craig?_ **

 

A moment later, a response comes.

 

**How many directors did you give your number out to tonight? Damn**

 

Tweek smiles in spite of himself.

 

**_Sorry. Just checking! So… another day of filming, huh?_ **

 

**Guess so. I’m sick of this shit. It’s fun hanging out with you, though**

 

Tweek’s heart flutters.

 

**Back at ya**

  
  
  
  
  


They finally finish filming, and Craig begins editing the video. He sends him clips of it, but most of it is just Clyde doing something stupid, or zooming in way too close on Cartman’s face. It’s all jokes; Craig seems adamant on not showing him anything from the final product.

 

A week and half after filming, Craig invites him over to his dorm to see the final product.

  
  
  
  


Craig’s room somewhat catches him off guard; and somehow fits all the same. He’s got a picture of all the constellations on his wall, a poster of Led Zepplin above his bed, and a pet guinea pig. His room is tidy, much like his car, and is extremely small, much like most dorms on campus. He’s got a desk, a TV, a dresser with his guinea pig on top, and a bed. That is all.

 

They take a seat on his bed, sitting horizontally, their backs pressed to the wall, their legs dangling off it, Craig’s laptop placed between them. 

 

Craig powers up his laptop, and Tweek notices his background is of the mountains.

 

“Did you take that?” he asks. Craig nods sheepishly. “It’s nice.”

 

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

 

He pulls up the short film, sucks in a breath, and says, “you’re the first person I’m showing it to.” His voice is quiet and dim, and Tweek can practically hear the worry in it. He’s very good at picking up worry, he’s an expert in it.

 

“Really? Not, uh, Clyde?”

 

Craig nods, shrugging. “I--I don’t know. You seem like you appreciate art, more. Clyde was just in it for Bebe.”

 

Tweek purses his lips, nodding. He glances at the short film, a huge pause button watermark over it. He looks back at Craig. “Well, I’m honored,” he says earnestly. “So now you should play it.”

 

Things feel heavy between them, and for a moment, Tweek wonders if Craig will play it at all, or if they will just reside in this swelling moment. Craig eventually breaks the gaze though, and plays it.

 

Tweek watches, abandoning all prior thoughts. At one point, he has to ask Craig to stop watching him so hard, though.

 

The aesthetics of it are marvelous, capturing moments so intricately that Tweek almost feels they are too fragile for film, leaves him wondering  _ how  _ he even managed to film them. It feels like he has captured a snowflake, and somehow preserved its beauty.

 

There’s emotion and honesty, which is shocking, considering it was a fictional short film.

 

A lot of shots are of him, and Tweek feels way too self aware and awkward, but somehow, it  _ works.  _ He somehow made him look good on camera. That’s true talent.

 

When it’s over, Tweek just stares at the end credits, seeing his own name pass by until it’s well over, and once again watermarked with that huge pause sign.

 

Craig is burning holes into the side of his head. Tweek looks over to meet his intense and curious gaze. He raises an eyebrow. “Well?” he asks.

 

His eyes are so blue, so raw and honest, and focused. Focused on him; focused on his thoughts of his short film, and Tweek feels it’s all too much pressure to form words right now for some reason. He’s never been good with words, so instead, he leans forward and presses his lips to the director with the blue chullo. 

 

He kisses him back, apparently pleased with his answer. His mouth is warm and pleasant, gentle and and tender with each brush of their lips. He brings a hand to his cheek, and it’s warm and clammy, but Tweek doesn’t care because it feels good being there, nonetheless.

 

When they break away, the boy just stares at him, a soft glow around him that once was apathetic. Tweek breathes in and then out, saying, “that was  _ beautiful.  _ I wasn’t expecting it to be that, but… it was… way better, than my expectations. Not that they were low, but augh, that was amazing.”

 

Craig’s cheeks burn red as he murmurs a thank you, and then his lips are on his again to show gratitude, because words are overrated. Honestly, Tweek can’t think of a better response than to have his lips against his own and his hands to his cheeks. 

 

They sit there the rest of the night, sharing kisses and small whispers. 

 

Tweek can’t believe he’s actually getting extra credit for _ this.  _

**Author's Note:**

> the other day i was sitting in class and read this poster about this person needing people for their short film and this idea came to mind and i had to write it because yes.... but i'm not sure i articulated the idea as well as i wanted. anyways. hope you liked it!!!!!!!!!!


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